Baths With Metamorphmagi
by MrsTater
Summary: For members of the Order of the Phoenix, now forced underground as the war rages and their friends and family fall, moments in which joy is not tempered by sorrow are few and far between. For Remus and Dora Lupin, Teddy's bath time might be one of them.


_Written for the August 2007 R/T Ficathon at **RTChallenge**, and inspired by the fanart of **Funnyhoneybee**. Thanks to **Godricgal **for betaing!_

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**Baths With Metamorphmagi**

Leaning against the door frame (once upon a time noted as a fine example of moulding, but now only as a final example of peeling paint or, as Tonks says, a house with a lot of character, which Remus quite agrees with) he considers teasing his wife about inconstant vigilance. She has no idea he's standing there, watching her, never heard him ring the doorbell she made his first honey-do project after their marriage, never heard her mum call out a security question to him or laugh at his answer. He decides against teasing, though, because her endless dark eyes still shimmer with tears at references to Mad-Eye, and these days, moments in which joy is not tempered by sorrow are few and far between. This might be one of them, so he will not spoil it.

Also, he doesn't really have it in him to do anything but _look _at Tonks as she gives their baby boy a bath in the kitchen sink.

Though, at two months old (to the very day!) Teddy is already quite the little man. He is big for his age, according to his gran; the miniature, trembling limbs which mere days ago seemed so fragile are sturdier now, and the pudgy hands with dimples barely larger than pinpricks in the knuckles, have developed an iron grip. (He'll be a Beater like his namesake, according to Tonks, though Remus hopes not for Ravenclaw.)

Tonks can currently testify to those vice-like fingers, which grasp at the flannel and engage her in a tug-of-war which she, of course, is happily letting him win. Never mind that in doing so she's also helping him slosh half the bathwater out of the sink, though Remus is certain he sees a familiar Marauderish gleam in those hazy baby eyes, that the boy _knows_ he is getting away with having fun instead of having a bath. (No other male in history can have cultivated such a dislike for getting clean at such an early age. _Brilliant _child! He'll be getting his Hogwarts letter early, Remus is sure of it, first wizard under the age of eleven.)

Remus could point out to his wife that she might gain an advantage over her tiny, uncoordinated adversary and hold on to a shred of her Auror dignity if only her hands weren't morphed into green webbed things. He resists, though, because after all, it really does lend realism to her jolly, off-key rendition of "Grindylow Went A-Courting."

The vivid green colour of her skin catches Teddy's wide brown eyes and, with a gaping, gummy grin and a screech of delight, his fat fist opens and morphs into a Grindylow flipper just like Tonks'.

"Clever Auror Mummy wins!" she cries with a laugh.

Much splashing and squealing ensues as she continues her bathing assault. Tonks gently rubs the flannel behind the perfect pink shell-like ears, under roly-poly chin, arms, and knees; she lathers the tuft of downy hair that shifts in rapid succession to each of the rainbow hues shimmering in the sudsy bathwater.

To think that just ten months ago Dora sobbed into Remus' jumper that she didn't know a bloody thing about being a mother.

"You're a natural," he says, unable to keep silent any longer.

Maintaining her support of Teddy's head and wriggling body, Tonks turns her head to look at Remus as he pushes off the door frame, also unable to remain a room's length away. She does not appear remotely surprised by his sudden presence, and his heart jolts at the delight in her gaze, which up till now has been lavished on Teddy, now shining for _him_.

The flannel slips out of her hand, into the bathwater with a _slop_, and she catches Teddy's hand (his own again, though she retains the Grindylow one) and waves it to and fro.

"Teddy, look who's home! Say, _Wotcher, Dad!_"

Teddy does -- only his version involves less speech than kicking his feet and scrunching up his button nose. The iridescent hair slicked to his forehead blooms into a thick mop that is more grey than brown.

Another constriction in his chest makes Remus' voice come out a bit pinched. "Hello, you cheeky pair. How are you?"

He tickles Teddy's neck, and receives a gurgle and a coo.

"I'm glad to hear it, sir," says Remus, reaching around Tonks to catch one of the slippery little feet with its curled under toes. "It certainly looks like you're enjoying your bath. But then, who wouldn't enjoy being bathed by this lovely witch?"

He pecks Tonks' cheek, which earns him a contented sigh, but when he settles a hand on hip and starts to slide it round front to rest on her tummy, she squirms.

"You don't want to do that."

Assuming she means because she's drenched from t-shirt to socks (and the rug she's stood on could substitute for a flannel for Grawp's bath), Remus splays his hand across her middle, hugging him to her anyway.

"A little water never hurt anyone," he says in her ear, wondering whether the Lupin household is the only one in which bath time is such a _messy _affair.

Tonks gives a puff of exasperated amusement. "Except it's not water."

"Not water? Then what...?"

She turns her head again, her features drawn, lips tight; the glimmer in her eyes, however, tells Remus there is no cause for concern. Or maybe it tells him just the opposite...

"The second I got the nappy off and lifted him up to put him in the water, your son let loose."

Remus resists the impulse to remove his hand from Tonks' sopping t-shirt, and chokes back a chortle that can only result in him sleeping on the settee tonight. "_My _son?"

"He could only have got that sort of rude behaviour from you, you..._man_...so yes, _your _son."

"All right," says Remus (grinning as he thinks what wonderful words _my son_ are, and what a nice change it is for the day's biggest trial to be a bit of errant infant pee), "I shall take full responsibility for this fine lad--"

"Well, not _full_," Tonks butts in, contradictorily indignant. "I made him, too, and I'm the one who endured sixteen hours of labour--"

"And when my son's bath time is over," Remus cut her off, squeezing her, and dropping another kiss onto her head, "I shall give _my wife_ hers."

Not a trace of sorrow clouds the joy shining in her eyes.

There is, however, a little wickedness...

"Do you mind if I keep my Grindylow hands?"

_The End_

_**A/N: Reviewers get firsthand experience about baths with werewolves... ;)**_


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